Growing Old
by Iliveinnerdfighteria
Summary: Growing old is hell, especially for a hunter who has lost almost everything. Headcanon for a supernatural ending. Inspired by this Tumblr post:


Dean cursed under his breath every morning as he pulled himself out if bed. Getting old was hell, and he knew all about that.

He didn't know that he got off relatively easy as far as growing old was concerned. Granted, his joints ached constantly when he stood and his hearing had gone somewhat along with the brown in his hair. But the most important thing was still in tact: his mind. When he lay in bed at night he was still able to recall the days of hunting with the brother he had lost. He could stand again beside his brother and best friend and watch as he married the love of his life. Dean could remember everything with a special clarity that he didn't realize was unusual. He had been blessed. Blessed by the young angel who swung open the door in front of him and stuck his head in,

"Are you up?" Cas' gruff voice asked, unchanged completely by the decades that had passed so treacherously for Dean and his brother.

"Of course I'm up, what does it look like." He bit back a groan as he pushed himself to his feet and shuffled over to his closet. Cas didn't comment on his biting sarcasm, pulled his head out and closed the door behind him. Years of habit were unbroken and Dean still slept in a pair of crumpled jeans and a t-shirt, as much as Sam had tried to get him to stop. He had bought Dean pajamas for every birthday since he had turned 50, until the year he died. Rain, Sam's wife, had kept up the tradition every Christmas since then. Dean had a whole dresser devoted to the blasted things, but he couldn't bring himself to toss them. So instead they just piled up.

He took off his wrinkled t-shirt and replaced it with a fresh one, pulling a plaid button up shirt and leather jacket over the top. He relished in the smell of the old leather, refusing to exchange it with one of the two new ones that both Cas and Sam had bought for him over the years. Those who didn't know Dean would look at him and see an old man desperately trying to stay young, when in reality, he was brandishing his age. Very few people in his line of business lived to see their hair turn grey. He wore his old hunting clothes as a sign to other hunters: he had survived against all odds and he wasn't going to let age defeat him.

Castiel looked up as he walked in, looking glad to see him without smiling as only he seemed capable.

"I made breakfast."

"You always make breakfast," Dean huffed, plopping himself down on a chair at the table.

He and Cas were the sole inhabitants of the Bat Cave and had been for some time. After their marriage, 25 years earlier, Sam and Rain had moved out, electing to start their new life together somewhat aloof of the hunter lifestyle. At the time Dean had been slightly hurt and almost panicked, afraid he was losing his brother. But Rain had proved to be a useful resource when it came to hunting and Dean soon warmed up to the idea of having a sister, if only by marriage.

None of them had ever been much in the way of cooks, but Cas had been determined to master as many human traits as possible when he fell. After countless burnt dishes and 3 fire scares he finally seemed to get the hang of it. It was one of the few habits he continued after his grace was restored. Every morning without fail, Cas showed up in the kitchen to make breakfast. After a while he just stopped leaving in the night, especially when Dean started getting to the point where he needed someone around at all times. It annoyed Dean to no end the way he worried, but there was little he could do to stop him, so eventually he just resigned to the angel and allowed him to hover as long as he kept his distance.

This morning was omlets and French fries. An odd combination, but Dean absolutely refused to go through a meal without eating something fried. That habit probably would have killed him years ago if Cas wasn't in the habit of sneaking into his room at night and restoring full inner health. He left enough fatigue and aches to keep Dean from getting suspicious, but watching someone you love grow old in pain is worse than growing old yourself, and Cas' too big heart couldn't handle not helping in any way he could. After Sam died, Cas didn't pop up for a week. He blamed himself for not helping Sam as much as he had Dean. When he finally appeared, Dean didn't say anything, he merely wrapped his arms around the angel's broad shoulders and held on tight.

"What's on the agenda for today?" Cas asked as he set a plate down in front of Dean and situated himself in a chair across the table, sitting on the edge to a avoid crushing his wings.

"I dunno." Dean mumbled through his French fries. His active hunting days had ceased when he lost the ability to outrun a demon without straining something. He had been left to live out the rest of his days doing in the one part of hunting he despised: research.

But today he was feeling restless. He didn't want to be confined to the small room within which most of his life resided.

"Let's go out." He said after swallowing.

Something flickered across Cas' face and he wouldn't quite meet Dean's eyes as he replied, "Okay."

Dean scrutinized Cas' face as he chewed his last bite, trying to catch a glimpse of the flickered emotion, but he didn't catch anything and he brushed it off.

Cas picked up his empty plate and quickly washed and dried it while Dean creaked to his feet and retrieved the keys for the Impala from their perch on the desk across the room. He turned to see Cas staring at him intently. He dropped his eyes as soon as Dean noticed, but not fast enough for even his old, tired eyes.

"What's up with you today, man?" He asked, following Cas' retreating figure out of the cave, to the Impala. One thing Dean had irrevocably decreed was his claim to the driver's seat within the Impala. No one but him had the right to drive her. As his joints aged and his eyes grew bad, he began delegating repairs to Cas, under his close supervision. But he never relented his claim to driving.

Cas pulled open the passenger door and plopped down into the car, causing it to bounce slightly from the weight. Dean shuffled around to the driver's seat and slowly lowered himself in, and turned immediately to Cas, raising his eyebrows.

"What?" Cas asked, too innocently.

"What is wrong with you today?" Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously as Cas' face flickered quickly again with emotion.

"Nothing." It didn't sound like he even believed the lie, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Dean the truth.

Dean stared for a second more before pushing it to the back of his mind once again, "Whatever." He mumbled as the Impala roared to life beneath them.

The moment he looked away though, Cas' face crumpled in pain. He felt what was coming, he'd felt it coming for weeks now. Dean's heart was growing weaker by the day and now they were on the home stretch. Dean's heart wouldn't last the day.

The sole surviving Winchester pushed on the radio and rolled down the windows. The music trailed after the boy and the angel as they drove down the deserted highway. Dean didn't have a specific destination in mind, being in the Impala reminded him of his brother so much that he probably could have driven forever just to stay in that moment.

In his mind Sam sat behind him, grumbling about the ancient music and the non-existent AC. He almost smiled, but a sliver of pain stabbed at his chest, causing him to suck in a quick breath.

Castiel turned to look at him in alarm, but Dean waved him off.

"It's nothing." He inserted and he turned his attention back to the road.

Cas continued to watch him: they were so close now.

They drove for hours, passing through town after town until, around 5:00, a diner appeared on the horizon.

Dean pulled into the small dirt lot and parked facing away from the setting sun. His wallet was quickly dug out of his pocket and he sent Cas into the diner with explicit instructions that included coffee and pie.

Cas hesitated before getting out of the car, unashamedly staring at Dean with an expression devoid of emotion. Inside a war was waging: to save Dean or to let him die. Now was the moment. He lifted his hand for one moment, a few inches from his leg, but thought better of it, and allowed it to drop back down.

Dean raised a suspicious eyebrow but didn't comment and Cas turned away, unable to bring himself to save the man he revered so ardently. It was his time.

So Cas stepped out of the car, straining to hear the last breaths of the righteous man before the door slammed shut behind him and he knew he would never see Dean Winchester alive again.

In the car, Dean leaned the seat back as far as it could go and closed his eyes. He was entitled to a rest, he'd been driving all day.

Just a few minutes of shut eye.

The paramedic said he died of heart failure, that he probably didn't feel a thing. He just went to sleep and never woke up.

Light radiated all around him in a scene Dean felt he had seen before but had forgotten. His feet stood on soft grass, wearing combat boots he hadn't seen for years.

One step was all it took for him to know he had died. There was no more pain in his knees, his breaths came easy, and his back stood straight.

30 years old again.

He smiled to himself, but it froze when he felt a hand on his shoulder. After years of paranoid living, he couldn't help but swing around on his guard, but his body relaxed when he saw who it was.

Dark hair and a fitted suit: Castiel.

"You knew?" His voice raised in accusation.

Cas shrugged and smiled his unique smile, "Of course..." He trailed off as Dean crushed him into a hug.

"It's ok you jerk. I forgive you. Now let's go find Sammy."

Castiel gripped Dean's shoulder tight and they vanished with the sound of flapping wings, leaving Dean's field empty behind them.


End file.
